


the afterlife, sponsored by red bull

by seditonem



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 21:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seditonem/pseuds/seditonem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which percy jackson finds the isle of the blest boring<br/>nico does a lot of shadow travelling<br/>and red bull sponsors the underworld.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the afterlife, sponsored by red bull

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: character death, probably language, i haven't read this over in a while.   
> disclaimer: non-profit lies.   
> other: a few people asked for this to be put up promptly on my archive, so here it is.

Nico’s feet are cold against the wet grass on the hill; he forgot to put shoes on when he was woken up from a dreamless, deep, cough-medicine induced sleep and summoned. He’s standing next to his father, looking across the land below them, watching as the Mist is blown away. 

“I still think you’re making a mistake,” he shrugs. Hades glowers. 

“No one asked your opinion,” he replies. Nico sighs, rubs his face with one hand, and disappears into a shadow. 

It’s been five hours, twelve minutes and fifteen seconds since he saw Percy Jackson die. The deep, twisting pull at the base of his stomach hasn’t lessened yet. 

#

Nico goes home and decides sleep won’t be forthcoming anytime soon, so he starts up his computer and gets down to work with the aid of two cups of coffee and a bunch of red grapes. The window shows him a black square of sky, lit at the bottom by the lights of the city.

It’s a bad habit of his, sleeping in the day and working in the night, but Nico finds it works. He lives alone in New York, at the top of an apartment building, hacking computer fraudsters for a living, employed by a security company. It’s easy money; he may not have had the traditional sort of education that most kids have had, but computers are second nature to him. 4 AM usually finds him drinking coffee, staring at a screen, legs crossed on the huge plush arm-chair he uses. 

Percy had said he was almost too skinny to be twenty-five. 

Nico pauses, puts down his coffee mug, and stares out of the window. Somewhere out there, people are panicking, because Zeus dropped the bomb that there _are_ actually gods, and they’re powerful. 

It’s still a bad idea, he thinks. But no one’s asking his opinion.

#

It happened like this: gods don’t just survive because of civilization. They survive because of morals, because of belief, because of human stability. In the ten years after Kronos was dispersed through the universe as dust, the power of Olympus began to wane, slowly at first, until one day Poseidon found that minimising a tsunami with his own power was a lot more difficult than he’d expected. 

And why was that? 

No one believed anymore. The gods were myths, legends, something you told your child as a bed-time story. 

The council made a half-cooked plan (in Nico’s opinion, anyway, and – well – no one’s asking for it, as usual) that destroying the Mist and telling the mortals about the gods would be the best plan of action, and before anyone could get a word in edge-ways, let alone Percy or Nico or Annabeth, the most advanced children of Hecate were helping to destroy the Mist forever.

Nico was pretty sure a lot of kids were going to start having vivid nightmares, but soon he didn’t have time to think about that anymore – Red Bull wanted to sponsor the Underworld, and Hades needed someone who was young and understood contracts. Which meant Nico, obviously. 

And then Percy Jackson died. 

#

At eight in the morning Nico calls it a day – or a night, he’s not sure - and turns off the computer. He washes the dirty cups, turns on the news channel, and stares for a minute at the blinking headlines announcing the inconceivable and yet true news that yes, the gods are alive and kicking. 

Family Guy is much more interesting, he decides, after another minute, but even that can’t interest him. 

Nico chews his lip and slips into a shadow, down into the Underworld, and makes for the Isle of the Blest. 

#

It’s eternally late afternoon on the Isle of the Blest. Late afternoon in mid-summer, Nico decides. He likes it. He pads barefoot through the throngs of ghosts who’re dancing in a white-paved square, laughing, tiny tea-lights suspended in the air. They take no notice of him. The smell of barbeque hangs in the air. Nico takes the narrower back-streets to the edge of the Isle, to where there are small white-washed houses and willow trees beside rivers. These flow clear and musical, unlike the Styx. 

Percy Jackson is reading a book, propped up by a willow tree. He looks roughly twenty-five years old, like death had no impact on him at all. Nico pauses, unsure of himself even in his father’s realm, and opens his mouth to ask Percy something – and then decides against it. Not yet. Not until he’s sure of what Percy remembers.

“Are you just going to stand there all day, or come and talk to me?” Percy asks, not looking up from the book. He folds the corner of the page over and sets the paperback aside, squinting up at Nico. He looks exactly the same as he always has, tan-skinned and golden, with slight sunburn on the bridge of his nose and his hair curling a little at the nape of his neck. No scars, though, Nico notes. Invincibility protects you against those.

But invincibility doesn’t protect you against death, he reminds himself.

“You look good, for a dead person,” he says, forcing a grin.

“Would have to be a manticore,” Percy sighs. “Little fuckers.” He moves up and Nico sits down next to him, leaning against the willow tree. “How long’ve I been dead?”

“Almost two days,” Nico says, fiddling with a lose strand of grass. “How’s life after death?”

“Bit dull, to be honest,” shrugs Percy. Nico raises an eyebrow. Percy blushes. “Shut up; it’s nice, y’know, being able to read a book and not have to worry about any monsters, but – well, it’s really boring. There’s nothing to do but dance and have barbeques and sit around and _talk_.”

“Oh, the hero wants some action, does he?” Nico teases. Abruptly, he turns serious. “It’s hell up there, y’know. People are going crazy since the Mist was destroyed.” 

“Gods, I’d give anything to be up there,” Percy sighs. 

“Be grateful, you douche, you’re in paradise,” Nico grins. He leans back against the tree, and five minutes later he’s asleep. Percy rolls his eyes, smiles to himself, and goes back to his book.

#

It’s two weeks before Nico has time to see Percy again. If he’s not asleep, then he’s in some legal conference, helping to draft up a contract between Hades & Co. and the sponsors. They get offers from everyone from Coca-Cola to Pepsi, and since no one else really likes being around the god of death, Nico gets the brunt of all the work. He teaches himself legal jargon when he has the time, but otherwise he relies mostly on the kids of Athena, and tries to get along. And if he’s not in a legal conference, then he’s attending talks about how the world’s currency should be changed to drachma, or about how the gods are going to stop global warming. 

“You look like death,” Percy teases when Nico comes down to see him. “And you’ve forgotten your shoes again.”

“Don’t you start,” Nico sighs. He falls asleep almost instantly, his head inches from Percy’s thigh. 

#

Winter turns to spring in New York City. Nico pays his taxes, quits his job to work full-time for his dad, and watches the world try and calm down. Crime rates drop due to the realization that you actually _do_ get punished for everything shitty that you do in life, and despite the religious activists who maintain that the whole thing is a hoax, life seems to slowly go back to normal. Nico works night and day, sleeping when he can, and eating when he remembers, and eventually the temporary five-year tattoo of a dragon he got on his lower stomach, which curled round his navel and dipped onto his upper thigh, fades into smooth skin. He goes back to get a permanent one. 

Spring fades to hot, oppressive summer. Nico counts the days on a calendar and crosses them off with a big red pen. 

#

“Three months, and it doesn’t look like you’ve moved an inch,” Nico grins. Percy blushes a little and puts the book down. 

“I have moved,” he protests, weakly, and roots through the pile of books next to him. “I got up to get this!” 

Nico stares at the title. 

“Percy,” he says, carefully, “you were reading that the last time I visited you.

“When was that?” Percy asks, frowning.

“That was a month ago.” 

#

On his birthday, Nico drops into Olympus to say hi to Annabeth, and finds someone’s organized a surprise party for him without his permission. He can’t help but be amused, though, by the drunken way Grover squints across the room at Juniper, who’s being chatted up by a water nymph; nor can he help but smile when Annabeth laughs at his sarcastic remarks when she forces him to dance with her. He hasn’t seen her since Percy died; her wedding, to a charming son of Apollo, was the day before it happened. 

He dances with a drunken wisp of a girl called Natasha, a daughter of Hectate. “What’s with the scars on your hands?” she slurs, holding up his hands. She’s cute, he decides, but not his type. 

“Hydra,” he says, quickly. She looks at him with new respect.

“I like you,” she tells him, decisively, and passes out on his arm. He hands her back to her friend and leaves, rubbing the scars on his hand, suddenly realizing that he’d forgotten them.

They’re not hydra scars. They’re manticore scars. 

#

“Nico, I know you don’t spend much time around sentient beings, but _please_ , could you attempt intelligent conversation?” Hades asks, his voice sharper than Stygian steel. Nico rolls his eyes; typical family gathering. He downs the last of his wine and stands up. 

“Well, then you’d better find yourself another spokes-person for the company, one with better _intelligent conversation_ ,” he says, and leaves. The wine rushes through his blood; he feels bold and young. 

The next morning he drives to Camp Half Blood. 

#

After a few minutes of politely trading insults with Dionysus, Nico finds Chiron and asks if he can sign up to be a temporary instructor at Camp. 

“Of course,” Chiron smiles. “You can start tomorrow, if you like. We’re in desperate need of instructors, actually,” he continues, motioning behind him. “We’ve had to expand.” The Camp is indeed massive, much bigger than Nico remembers, and teeming with young demigods. “It’s mostly Apollo,” admits Chiron. 

“Typical,” grins Nico. “I’ll go dump my stuff and take a look around.” 

Once he’s settled into the Hades cabin again – still as empty as it was when he last slept there – he walks to the edge of the forest, to a small, slightly hidden grove where the grass is still a little trampled. His hands tremble slightly as he unsheathes his sword. 

He traces circles in the air, shutting his eyes, letting the sword become part of his arm, just an extension of his body. It’s almost too easy, falling back into the rhythm of thrust, parry, duck and roll that he and Percy practiced a thousand times. The grass is cool under his feet; his jeans press against his skin just like he remembered, and his skin feels newborn in the cool air. His shirt lies forgotten next to his shoes. This is the way the Greeks fought, he thinks, and it’s the way he’ll fight; he’s never really liked armor. 

The sky is dusky pink and burgundy by the time he’s finished, sweat making the dragon on his skin shine bright and living on his body. He stands in the cool air, panting, feeling eighteen all over again. He and Percy fought so many times on the same ground, sparring because no one else wanted to fight with them – Percy was invincible and untouchable, and Nico had to be knocked out or killed before he gave up in a fight. 

He should go back and shower, he knows. He should. But he doesn’t.

#

“What do you remember about the day you died?” 

Percy looks up, frowning, and puts the book down beside him. It’s _Moby Dick_ , Nico notes, and wonders when Percy got so interested in reading. The pile of books beside him is now in danger of falling into the river. 

“I – I don’t remember anything,” he says, finally, like the time in the Isle of the Blest has softened his memory. Is this really paradise? Nico’s seen the restoration work around the Isle, but he’s beginning to wonder if paradise isn’t different for everyone, not some large garden where no time ever seems to pass. 

“Do you remember anything before the manticore?” Nico asks, hollowly. Percy looks him right in the eye and shakes his head. Nico swears quietly.

“What happened?” Percy presses, moving closer. Nico takes a step back, wiping sweat off his forehead. He presses his palm against his face and sighs. And then he can’t not ask it anymore, he can’t hold back the question any longer.

“Do you remember what you said to me before the manticore found us?” he asks. He can’t meet Percy’s eye. “Do you remember how you said you wanted me. How you said you wanted me like I wanted you. You said you wanted us.” 

“I thought that was a dream,” Percy says, after a second. 

“A dream?” Nico almost laughs. He holds out his hands, showing the red raw scars on each one. They feel like they were made only yesterday, he thinks; he can feel the blood thrumming under the skin. “You see these scars? I got these scars from the manticore. I got these scars because I tore and fought and hit until it let your body go. I got these scars because even when I dropped my sword I kept going until that monster was dust in my hands. I felt your pulse stop beneath your skin, Percy, so don’t you fucking dare think it was a dream.” 

The sun feels fake against his back. Nico can see Percy shut his eyes, as if _this_ is a dream. Slowly, he reaches out to touch Nico’s hands, but his fingers pass straight through Nico’s body. He feels like a cool summer breeze against the skin. 

“Smooth,” Nico says, almost bitter. “I’ve got to go,” he adds, after a minute of silence, and turns to leave. 

#

“It’s not that you’re not a good instructor,” Chiron says, diplomatic and calm as usual, “but Nico, you need to eat. You’ve done nothing but train or teach for two months – is there a heart in there, or a ticking mechanism?” 

“How long do you want me to go on holiday for?” Nico asks, zipping his bag up with angry, tense movements. He feels like a coiled spring, ready to burst at any moment.

“A month at least,” Chiron tells him firmly. “Go and sleep. And eat.”

Nico comes home to bills and a letter informing him that he’s got to change all his dollars for drachma, the new official currency of America. “Charming,” he mutters, booting up his computer to pay tax and answer the emails from his dad.

#

It’s two months before Nico returns to Camp Half Blood. He rents out his flat to the mother of the girl who lives next door – much to her horror – and goes back to teaching kids almost half his age how to survive when faced with monsters. He knows most of the mortals kids have nightmares – who wouldn’t, when faced with a hydra? But mortal kids don’t get hunted to death from the age of ten. 

“Uh, sir,” one of the kids asks, and Nico corrects him with a good-natured _It’s just Nico_ ; “what’s the worst monster you’ve ever faced?” 

Nico ponders it, but while he’s thinking another kid chips in. She’s only twelve, with curly red hair. “Where’d you get those scars?” 

He splays his fingers, staring at the backs of his hands. 

“A manticore,” he says, after a while. He looks up at the small crowd of children who should be doing drills with a sword. “Yes, definitely a manticore.” 

#

It’s November when Nico finally goes back to the Isle of the Blest again. He arrives at the willow tree, only to find the grass beneath it is empty. Slightly stunned, he searches the nearby streets, looking up at the houses. 

“Are you Nico di Angelo?” a nearby ghost asks. 

“Uh, yes?” He feels oddly intimidated.

“He’s in that house – he’s been waiting for you,” the ghost smiles; she’s beautiful, like some sort of vaguely cheerful Madonna. Nico nods his thanks and knocks on the door. 

“Hello,” Percy says, when the door finally opens. Still the same, Nico thinks, with a shock. Still exactly the same. “I’d offer you coffee, but I doubt you can drink it.”

“Thanks,” Nico smiles. He walks past Percy into the house; it’s open plan, white and spacious. Nico likes it instantly. He sits down at the kitchen table and watches Percy, who makes himself a cup of coffee. He moves nervously, as if he’s got too much energy. 

“You know,” Percy begins, and then pauses. He traces the rim of the cup with his forefinger. “I do remember,” he finishes. “I remember everything. I just – when I saw you again for the first time, and you didn’t say anything, I thought it must have been a dream, something I made up as I died.” 

“Well. Now we both look like stereotypical men,” Nico grins. Percy laughs quietly. He reaches out his hand and his fingers pass straight through Nico’s. 

“Fuck,” Percy sighs. “This is going to get me every time.”

Nico’s throat clenches. “Don’t worry,” he says, quietly, and looks Percy dead in the eye. “Soon.” 

#

The last email Nico di Angelo sends his father has blueprints of a new Isle of the Blest attached, drawn up by Annabeth. He packs up his things at Camp – a few pairs of jeans, a loose pair of sweatpants and a couple of shirts, but not much else – and burns them in the woods. 

Then he heads for Africa, travelling by shadows. A few days of research told him the biggest, most poisonous scorpions live there, and he figures if he’s looking for a fight then he’ll find one there.

#

The last time Nico was in a proper fight with a monster, Percy Jackson died. The last time Nico was in a proper fight, he bit and tore and ripped until the monster turned to sand, and he could look back at Percy’s face, see him breathe one more time, and reach for Nico with one hand. There was little blood; the wound was tiny. 

The last time Nico was in a fight, he survived. 

# 

“I hear they’re building a training arena.”

Nico’s leaning against frame of Percy’s front door. Percy almost drops the coffee mug he’s holding. 

“That so?” he asks, when he’s recovered a little. Nico can tell Percy knows what’s happened; he can feel it in his breath, in the way Percy can’t stop looking at him, staring at him like he’s contemplating how best to tie him up and never let him go. 

“Matter of fact, I helped design it myself,” Nico shrugs, false modesty hanging heavy on his words. 

“Then I’m sure it’ll fall down in a day,” grins Percy, and Nico finds the smile infectious. “Gods,” Percy whispers, and then he’s pulling Nico to him, pressing their lips together, and every second of his time alone was worth it, Nico discovers. It’s worth it because Percy arches into him and bites on his lower lip and takes Nico’s breath away, his tongue tracing Nico’s and his hands in Nico’s hair. 

#

Nico learns that Pepsi is backing the plans for the expansion of the Isle of the Blest a few days – or maybe it’s months – later. It doesn’t really affect him, though, since he’s spent most of his time in bed. With Percy. 

And that, he thinks, really is as close to eternal happiness as he has the right to be.


End file.
